Love the One You Hate

“So you went with her?”

“Yeah. The party was fine, bigger than I was expecting. There was a DJ set up in the living room and the bass was shaking the walls. I couldn’t think, let alone talk to anyone. Ariana slipped off somewhere early on and I just stayed in the living room because it felt like a safe zone. There were a lot of people in there. Nothing could happen to me, I thought.”

I rub my forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “Sorry. I’m rambling. None of that’s even important. It’s just the bass was so loud, like I said, so I didn’t hear the police cars pull up. Everyone scattered like they had some preset plan in place for how to get the hell out of there. I could have run out a side door easily enough, but I stayed to look for Ariana and eventually she came barreling down the stairs, clearly high as a kite. She took my hand and pulled me out into the back yard. We ran for the fence and tried to hop it, but it was too high. I helped her over, and her backpack fell off onto the ground. I picked it up and swung it onto my shoulder without thinking.

“I remember her being more worried about it than she was about me. She kept shouting, ‘My backpack!’ instead of, like, ‘Hey Maren! C’mon, hurry up!’

“Once I told her I had it and not to worry about it, she hopped down onto the other side and the cops found me there, trying to get over the fence by myself.” I scratch the center of my palm to give my brain something else to concentrate on. “I got into a lot of trouble.”

“There were drugs in her backpack, weren’t there?”

I look away, out through the maze of cypress trees.

“Yeah. Quite a lot, apparently. I didn’t realize she’d been dealing some on the side. She never told me.”

“Why’d you take the fall for her?”

“Because like I said, if she got into trouble again, she’d get kicked out of the house. I figured I had a clean record so I could take the hit. Also, naively, I assumed I could just tell the cops the backpack wasn’t mine and they’d believe me.”

That wasn’t the case. Lesson learned.

“It’s still on my record.”

He walks over and takes my hands so he can pull me up off the bench. He’s too close, pressed against me; if I wanted to look at him, I’d have to tip my head back. It’s nice to have that excuse to keep my gaze pinned on his chest instead, feeling his arms wrap around my waist. He bends low and kisses my cheek once. Then again. It’s an invitation, and I can’t resist the urge to turn my head so our lips can finally meet.

He tightens his hold on me and our kiss grows from something soft into something more, like he’s trying to rewrite a wrong, trying to draw the pain out of me like it’s venom.

I curl my hands around his neck, along the base of his hair, feeling the short, soft strands as his tongue touches mine. I’m hungry for him to take it further. I want his touch on my skin, under my dress, inside my panties.

I can feel him getting carried away too. The farther he pushes me back into the shadows of the garden, the faster my heart beats. His hands are everywhere, on my shoulders and bare arms, tracing along the strapless V-neck of my gown. Lower they slide, pressing the tulle skirt between my thighs. There’re so many layers and still, I feel him there, still react with a sigh and a plea.

His kiss turns punishing as he rubs me through all the fabric, faster, harder. I claw at his arms, angry that this is as far as we can go. Angry that, for all his wealth and lineage and arrogance, he can’t whip up a bed for us right here out of thin air.

“Let me take you home,” he whispers, and I’m nodding my head in agreement before he even finishes the request.25MarenHe leads me through the party, walking so fast I nearly have to run to keep up. We slip by everyone as if we aren’t really there, past ballerinas twirling on stage and dozens of conversations flitting in and out of earshot. Nicholas ignores the few people who call his name, and we must look so bizarre fleeing from the gala, like two criminals on the lam.

We’re near the entrance of the house when I blurt out, “Nicholas, I have to tell Ariana I’m leaving. And what about Cornelia?”

He groans as if annoyed to hear their names.

I laugh. “We can’t just abandon everyone.”

“Why can’t we?” he asks, actually picking up his pace.